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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26812018">The Beginning</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunel0/pseuds/Sunel0'>Sunel0</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Magic, Murder, Possession, Rated For Violence, Restraints, The dog dies mostly off-screen, Unhappy Ending, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:07:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,708</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26812018</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunel0/pseuds/Sunel0</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His body didn’t shiver, stepping over the chains on the floor and putting down the last candle. Stiles felt like he should be trembling. Except he didn’t control even the most minuscule part of his body.</p>
<p>His body wasn’t his.</p>
<p>“You’re not Stiles.”</p>
<p>Stiles’ face smiled.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Theo Raeken/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Steo Spooktober</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Steo Spooktober Bingo square Possession<br/>Big thanks to @impractical-matters for betaing</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles had spent the last eight years trying to get better, sometimes succeeding, and sometimes – not so much. Watching Theo get better, going through therapy, making his amends, meeting new people. They were doing great, actually, to literally everyone’s surprise. Theo was planning their vacation to celebrate their fifth anniversary, not telling Stiles a thing about it because it was supposed to be a surprise. The supernatural was quiet. College was amazing for both of them. Stiles’ father was retired and happy, and all their friends were doing fine.</p>
<p>Now he was placing candles around the chalk line, a body in its center right on the floor of Theo and Stiles’ garage in their little cozy home. Something in his body felt kind of disappointed that the candles were all different, but they would do. It was dark outside, and Stiles knew that the stars were beautiful. His arms were covered in goosebumps: the nights weren’t as warm anymore, and a t-shirt and sweatpants didn’t do much against how cold this cement box got.</p>
<p>His body didn’t shiver, stepping over the chains on the floor and putting down the last candle.</p>
<p>Stiles’ hand lit up a candle.</p>
<p>The dog – her name was Flamethrower, because they couldn’t decide on the name and just opened a word randomizer; she was the sweetest puppy ever, Stiles thought stubbornly, clinging to the memories – whined annoyingly from the corner. Stiles’ hand – not the one that was lighting the candles – shot out in her direction, and she let out a high-pitch ear-piercing sound that made everything in Stiles recoil in horror, filled him with the need to help and then went quiet. His body merely put the hand down.</p>
<p>Stiles’ mouth hummed in satisfaction. Years of starvation made even this small death feel amazing. But animals were never enough.</p>
<p>Stiles felt like throwing up.</p>
<p>Too bad he wasn’t in control, his mind thought. His body made another pleased humming sound.</p>
<p>It felt the moon moving into the right position. It was almost three in the morning. The proper hour. Stiles couldn’t believe this was happening during an actual witching hour.</p>
<p>It would’ve been better if today was the day the worlds could collide, Stiles’ mind mused, but that required much more energy.</p>
<p>However, today was a start. Finally. After this terrible hundreds-years-long wait, finding someone so attuned to the spirit realm and already open and ready to be a host was unbelievable luck. The fact that said someone was surrounded by perfect power sources was beyond realistic. Just the ideal amount to tear open the fabric of space between worlds.</p>
<p>The Hellhound and the Banshee should probably be the last ones. Killing them together would produce such a great amount of energy, it would make for a beautiful celebratory show.</p>
<p>Especially if the killing were to be done correctly.</p>
<p>And it would be.</p>
<p>Stiles’ hand twitched, regaining the tiniest sliver of control. Just one small muscle. If only he could get more. If he tried harder, maybe he could get more. He could trick his body. He could stop it.</p>
<p>He just needed to get the gun in the toolkit in the corner of the garage.</p>
<p>His soul ached from all the horrors filling his brain. His worst nightmares, the ones that he managed to avoid, were drawing his worst memories back when his body wasn’t his for the first time.</p>
<p>The hand stilled.</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>Stiles had to fight.</p>
<p>This was his only chance.</p>
<p>He wouldn’t be capable of doing anything anymore if the night went the way his mind told him it would.</p>
<p>He would be just a silent passenger in his own body, watching, slowly dissolving.</p>
<p>That wasn’t something he was going to allow.</p>
<p>The body in the circle groaned and tried to sit up.</p>
<p>Stiles suddenly wanted to scream, to run, to scream at Theo to run.</p>
<p>“Stiles...?”</p>
<p>Stiles’ face smiled.</p>
<p>Stiles felt like he should be trembling. Except he didn’t control even the most minuscule part of his body.</p>
<p>His body wasn’t his.</p>
<p>Theo blinked up at it. “Stiles, what…” he stopped, tugging on the chains, becoming aware of them.</p>
<p>He looked so lost and confused for a second, eyes wide, brows drawn together, Stiles felt his whole being trying to reach out, to do something, to help him, to save him.</p>
<p>But Theo was smart. His face changed instantly, eyes squinting. </p>
<p>“You’re not Stiles.”</p>
<p>The smile broadened. “Aren’t I?” Stiles’ hand lit up the next candle. “Or maybe I’m just done with you? Maybe I don’t want to deal with your bullshit anymore? Maybe you actually are unforgivable? Unlovable?” The body crouched down in front of the next candle, with a thoughtful expression judging by the way the muscles tensed. “What else was there?” Stiles could almost feel gentle cold fingers skimming through the files that were Stiles’ memory, looking for the most sacred ones, the most important, the most vulnerable, choosing the most painful to stab better. Just for fun. Because it was possible.</p>
<p>Theo exhaled and almost shook with the strain of keeping it level, but Stiles still heard the low growl that escaped his chest involuntarily.</p>
<p>“Oh I know,” the body leaned in closer to Theo, intimate and familiar, whispering in a low, murmuring, warm voice, the way the body knew Stiles did in the mornings, waking Theo up with slow, sleepy, sweet kisses. Whispering the things Theo told Stiles between sobs and hiccups at his absolute worst, the things Stiles wasn’t sure even Theo’s therapist had heard.</p>
<p>The secrets Theo trusted him with because he was sure they would never be used against him, to hurt, to harm, to push the knife as deep as it would go.</p>
<p>The body basked in the immediate avalanche of Theo’s sharp and sudden pain. The way he held his breath for a second, trying his hardest to keep his reactions under control, not to give in, not to play along, not to feed whatever was using Stiles’ body, made the body lick its lips with pleasure.</p>
<p>Because Theo was failing miserably, giving the body everything it wanted. His breath hitched. His arms and legs strained against the chains. He hissed quietly, his eyes flashing that weird bluish golden color they became last year, teeth suddenly sharp. Ready to fight back and protect himself.</p>
<p>Except he couldn’t even move properly.</p>
<p>Stiles’ body felt better than it had since before his mother got sick. The body buzzed in satisfaction, pleasant warmth spreading from somewhere at its core.</p>
<p>Stiles was sure he blacked out for a moment. He couldn’t take it. He didn’t want to see what he knew was coming.</p>
<p>He couldn’t actually get out.</p>
<p>He couldn’t actually run away from his own body.</p>
<p>He couldn’t actually <i>do</i> anything.</p>
<p>He wanted to not exist in this moment. Literally any other would do.</p>
<p>And he knew it was coming. Slowly he would lose his connection to the body, leaving only the shell behind, erased. His mind knew this.</p>
<p>He could only wait for this to happen.</p>
<p>“Leave him alone,” Theo growled, eyes burning with rage. He was still good at this, at replacing every emotion with anger. Protecting his soft underbelly from getting hurt.</p>
<p>But the five years with Stiles had made much more of him soft anyway.</p>
<p>And the body knew that it had just ripped apart every single one of those soft places.</p>
<p>Metaphorically for now.</p>
<p>Stiles would thrash around, break something, touch Theo if he could.</p>
<p>The body placed a gentle kiss on Theo’s forehead, rubbing his cheek tenderly until Theo turned away sharply.</p>
<p>“No,” what his body felt was much closer to absolute and total bliss than anything Stiles remembered ever feeling. He wanted to crawl out of his own body.</p>
<p>And to imagine that it was just the beginning.</p>
<p>At least the plan was to make it fast.</p>
<p>Stiles felt his body chuckle. Maybe not actually fast. Stiles regretted that he could still think.</p>
<p>Stiles’ hand lit the last candle, and his body stood up, stepping over the chains and coming to stand in front of Theo, looking down at him. Theo growled and struggled against the confines uselessly.</p>
<p>The chains were specifically made to hold things much stronger than Theo, they all knew it, and Stiles had enough experience installing them so they wouldn’t fail.</p>
<p>Stiles felt the part of his consciousness responsible for breathing once stop for a second. He had to stop it. He tensed everything he had, pushing at his muscles, trying to do something, anything.</p>
<p>He heard an amused but disapproving sound leave his mouth. Helplessness flooded Stiles.</p>
<p>His hands moved in front of him, over Theo.</p>
<p>“Stiles…” Theo’s voice was suddenly quiet, not broken, but sort of resigned. As if he understood that this time they couldn’t bullshit their way out and came to terms with it in the last minute.</p>
<p>Stiles wanted to yell at him for stopping the fighting.</p>
<p>The old clock in the living room struck three.</p>
<p>Stiles’ hands moved, imitating box flaps opening.</p>
<p>Except it opened Theo’s chest instead.</p>
<p>The crunch of bones breaking, the pop of skin and muscles ripping, the screeching howl Theo made, struggling to bend in half, eyes burning, the chains digging into the skin at his ankles and wrists leaving them bleeding. What was left looked like a bizarre butterfly, something from a modern art exhibition.</p>
<p>Stiles’ ears were buzzing.</p>
<p>Stiles felt nothing.</p>
<p>The body sang with the explosion of energy.</p>
<p>Theo’s eyes found Stiles’. Soft and his natural hazel blue.</p>
<p>Loved and loving.</p>
<p>His head fell back, eyes still wide open. His borrowed heart constricted for the last time, open for everyone to see for what was possibly the first time in his life. In his death. Blood and mercury poured from everywhere, covering the circle, a couple of the candles toppled over, the flames going out.</p>
<p>Stiles felt his sock covered feet getting wet and disgustingly warm.</p>
<p>The body revelled in the feeling after an eternity of endless cold.</p>
<p>The mix of silver and red was so fascinating, the body just stood there for a couple of minutes, absorbing the refreshing half-forgotten sensations.</p>
<p>Then it turned around and walked away. It had things to plan.</p>
<p>Stiles felt already dead.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Don't forget to leave kudos if you liked it and comment if you are up to it:3 You can find me on tumblr <a href="https://sunel0.tumblr.com">under the same name</a>:3<br/><a href="https://sunel0.tumblr.com/post/631067275190009856/the-beginning">Also a moodboard and the post with this fic on tumblr</a> if you'd like to reblog it:3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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